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Published: October 17th 2007
Foreword
The last month of my life was spent in one of the most untouched and amazing countries in the world (in my limited and biased opinion that is): Mongolia. For seventeen days I was let loose in the wilderness and countryside, for days on end I sat in a Russian van as we drove over the pulverised remains of what may at one stage have been called a road, and in that time I saw an abundance of amazing places and met many wonderful people.
I could not possibly tell you every detail of my journey, and in some cases I probably couldn’t even keep such an account in chronological order. Instead, I am going to try and tell you all as many interesting little tales as I can recall in whatever order they come to me. Mongolia is just far too interesting for me to convey here, hopefully my collection of tales will be enough to give you a sense of how great a time I had there.
I was going to split the text into sections and spread the photos out accordingly but that's going to take a lot of effort to align photos and
all that. Instead I'm just going to put it all together in one big journal. Through a very painful process I have managed to cut the photos down to a meager 247 (I took a total of 623 of them). Take your time reading, or just look at the photos. Either way you'll fall in love with Mongolia.
The General Plan of Action In Ulaan Baatar, the capital of Mongolia, I met with four complete strangers and together we decided to embark on one of the obligatory Jeep tours of the Mongolian countryside. For a meager sum of money we were quickly organised into a nine day tour of the Gobi desert and central Mongolia. We were to embark the following morning in a Russian van on our 2000km odyssey through steppes, plains, deserts, sands, rocks, horses, camels, lakes, yaks and cheeses.
By way of introduction, my companions were as follows: Marjie, Hila, Sanyi, Sari, Enke (our translator/guide/cook, and Moghi (our driver). Together we were “Team Awesome”.
Boris the Bus and the Cliffs of Insanity
As we left the entrance of our guesthouse that morning we were faced with what could be either
Hila Looks Out at the World
From atop the Flaming Cliffs.a treasured companion or a pestering inconvenience; I am of course referring to our transportation. You can’t drive around the Mongolian countryside in any old Volvo, you need some serious off-road machinery for this task. Despite this fact we did manage to see an odd assortment of Jeeps, bikes (motorised and otherwise), sedans, vans, buses, trucks and horse-drawn carriages somehow navigating the terrain despite their clear lack of roadworthiness. In fact, it was a rare sight to see a vehicle that even had a functioning speedometer, let alone a complete set of tyre treads.
From the stories of others that I have met on my travels it appeared that a “good” Mongolian trip used a vehicle that had only one breakdown every day. If you could get away with only one flat a day you could count yourself extremely lucky! Thus, when we approached our vehicle we were cautiously aware of all it’s “character”.
Boris the bus, as he was affectionately named upon arrival by Marjie (Sanyi somehow managed to be unaware of the name for seven days despite the fact that we shouted “Come on Boris!” on every hill) was a Russian van. A giant, rectangular, gun-metal
grey van similar to a VW Combi-van but with a substantially sturdier undercarriage. Four giant wheels sat underneath and a chunky but effective engine sat in front. Boris looked sturdy enough, and he functioned fantastically . . . at first.
After a day or two we realised that Boris was lacking both his four-wheel drive functionality and first gear.
How exactly Moghi managed to get Boris moving was beyond me, the roads in Mongolia were not second gear friendly. Thankfully, a low gear shift meant that Boris could halve his gears which gave us a first gear, but you couldn’t start in that gear and then switch over so it was only good for hills. Nevertheless, Boris always started and always kept moving, evidence of his strong Russian spirit.
Then, one afternoon we arrived at a mountain the likes of which we had yet to encounter. The road rose about 40m up into the air almost instantly and no alternate route existed; we simply had to go over the top. In his typical style, Moghi was calm about the whole situation (he’d been over the hill before) and he told us all to get out of the
Marjie and Hila
Half of team awesome. van while he drove over the top. Unfortunately the plan succeeded in all parts except for the bit about getting over the top, and Boris fell short by a miniscule twenty meters. Suddenly Boris started sliding back down the hill, Moghi calmly trying to control the descent and keep the van on the road until eventually the attempt was lost and Boris slid into a ditch.
Boris surged back out of the ditch in a second effort, this time trying to ascend the grassy slope beside the road, zigzagging back and forth across the hillside on precarious angles, nearly tipping on a multitude of occasions. Rocks in the path would disturb his balance and Boris would rise up on two wheels, coming closer and closer to oblivion with each encounter. Despite his efforts he failed once again and Moghi steered him back to the bottom of the hill for a third attempt. The third run was based on pure speed up the road, but without a full selection of gears his attack ended with a stalled engine on the slippery upper slope.
Rolling back again Boris found himself in the ditch again, only this time his read wheels
Sari and Sanyi
The other half of team awesome. sank into the soft dirt and there he remained. Frantically we all banded together to gather rocks which we put under Boris’ wheels and again he tried to move out of the ditch. Rocks shattered and cracked, shards flew in all directions and a grand total of six inches were gained. Trying again we found ourselves all pushing behind Boris along with a careful of Mongolian locals. Slowly but surely Boris began moving, inching his way out of the ditch and up the road, only to again stall on the very last slope.
More rocks were put beneath his wheels and one last effort was put into rising over that hill. Boris pushed hard, Moghi remained calm and serene in the driver’s seat, Boris pushed harder, Moghi put his smiling face out of the window, Boris groaned and belched a profoundly horrible gust of exhaust and then finally moved up the slope. Inches turned into feet and then finally the slope eased as Boris conquered the Cliffs of Insanity.
For an old Russian van (which we later found was only seven years old) who was missing a quarter of his gears and only had two motorised wheels, Boris
Welcome to Mongolia
The view on our first day. was a remarkable car. Apart from the Cliffs of Insanity he was completely reliable. The only other incident we faced was a split tyre which we kept on using anyway. Perhaps it was the way I touched wood every time I had a thought about a potential breakdown, or perhaps it was just because Boris was awesome, but we had the most reliable vehicle in all of Mongolia. By way of contrast, at a later time in my trip Marjie and I hitched a ride in an identical model of van which managed to have four flat tyres in two days.
The Mongolian Highway System
When I think of highways I conjure pictures of wide bitumen boulevards, smooth driving, and high speed driving. This could not be further from the truth in Mongolia.
Mongolia claims to have around 1000km of paved highways, however, even when we were driving along the paved roads we were more often than not found on the grassy plains beside the road. Almost one hundred percent of the paved roads we encountered were under construction on a semi-permanent basis. Now, when you consider that we travelled in excess of 2000km on our
Broken Bike
We stopped to help a man with his broken motorbike. adventure one might be wondering what it was that we were actually driving on.
Well, the average Mongolian road looks a little different to those we have back home. The vacant Mongolian plains are crossed by dirt tracks, essentially the result of hundreds of passing cars, where two wheel grooves puncture the grass. However, a single such track is not deemed sufficient, and there are always multiple “lanes” for you to choose from. It was a popular game for Team Awesome to bet on which of the 13 or so roads cresting the next hill would be chosen by our driver. The choice was essentially random as the lanes criss-crossed, merged and split with alarming frequency.
All across the country there are dozens of parallel roads mixing and splitting in a horrifying mess of confusion. When two major highways intersect the landscape looks like a giant dusty mess of potholes and grooves. Navigating such messes appears impossible to the outsider and at first we were amazed that our driver could find the correct road. How exactly does one know which of the three identical hills we want to go over? Well, in the end the answer to this
question was rather simple: one doesn’t know. All of the roads eventually get to the same destination, roughly speaking, so long as you keep heading in the general direction that you want. Every now and then you have to consult your GPS (ger positioning system) and then you’ll be fine.
Road Signs
A common myth about Mongolia states that the country has no road signs. I can confidently report that it does in fact have road signs, three of them.
Sunsets, Rocks and the Mongolian Plains
After our first day of driving we found ourselves sleeping in a Ger camp (a collection of Gers, or felt tents, set up with a toilet and restaurant specifically for tourists) in a small valley somewhere about 300km south of UB. We had been driving for eight hours or so through what was almost perfectly unchanging plains. Flat grassy areas punctured here and there by a squat rocky outcrop of distant mountain spread in every direction (on a side note, we passed a mountain that could not be named because our driver had been stranded there on a previous trip when the car broke down). Towards the end
of the day however, we had started to drive amongst a collection of rocky outcrops within which our camp was found.
Dinner was a couple of hours away so we all set out on a walk through the rocks before sunset. The rocks stuck up out of the plain in small clumps and collections and from their summits we were afforded a view out across the surrounding valleys as the sun set behind us. A herd of goats greeted us on one outcrop which somewhat interrupted our ascent, and some wild horses wandered by us as we sat atop another up thrust. In the waning light the colours intensified and the plains came to life with an entirely new set of hues. Purples and reds showed through the grass and the deep red-brown of the rocks around us seemed to fit the scene perfectly.
The following night we arrived at our accommodation late and the sun was setting as we drove towards it. This time we were to sleep in a family’s Ger in the middle of a plain. Around us was nothing, complete emptiness besides the gers and a low rise behind us. In this setting the
Horses
At a lake we stopped next to. sunset appeared almost non-existent. The clear skies, devoid of any pollution or imperfection, were providing a dazzling sunset of red, purple, yellow and pink. Huge rays of the dying sunlight shot from the western horizon, spreading across the sky and tinging everything with purple, yet despite this the sunset appeared small and insignificant. In front of me was one of the best sunsets I had ever seen, but it was set in such a vastly huge and open expanse of nothingness that it seemed tiny. The vastness of the open sky, a complete hemisphere above me, was significant, it was just so big that everything else appeared as nothing. The horizon spread flat to infinity in both directions and due to its lack of any bump or deviation I was actually physically aware that the Earth was a sphere; I could fathom the fact that I was standing on a sphere which was spinning away from the sun for the first time, it was a disconcerting yet wonderful feeling.
After the sun set the stars came out - I wasn’t really surprised by this fact - and we were presented with skies so clear that we could see all
that was above us. In short, Mongolia has wondrous skies and we spent several nights sitting out in the cold looking above us.
Sleeping in a Ger With Beauties
The traditional Mongolian house is very different from the western norm. Because Mongolians are nomadic they have to use movable houses and the Ger is the ultimate solution. When Chinghis Khaan (Ghenghis Khan as we call him in Australia, I’m not sure why our transliteration is so horribly inaccurate) proclaimed his rule over Mongolia he said he was the king of “all those who dwell in felt tents” and that is pretty well the best way of describing Mongolians; even today most Mongolians live in Gers, even in the big cities there are entire neighbourhoods of them.
A Ger is a circular tent with a cylindrical lower section and a conical roof atop that. Felt covers all walls to keep the tents warm and wooden supports are used to keep them solid. Ornate wooden pieces are used to fasten the wooden supports together at the peak of the roof and a felt lid can be opened above this to let light in and smoke out of the
Ger. Gers come in various sizes and are measured by the number of siding pieces (concertina-like wooden frames placed around the walls for support) that are required. Inside a Ger you typically find a wood-fired stove, some wooden beds, wooden chests and very little else. All of the family’s possessions are stuck in the walls or hung from the ceiling.
These simple structures are remarkably comfortable and we slept in them on almost every night of our trip. I was lucky enough to be able to share my Ger with two beautiful women as well which was a nice touch (thanks Hila and Marjie). Despite the fact that the doors were only four foot high and the beds not much longer, I found the Gers to be fantastically comfortable places to live in.
The Hungarian Connection
For some reason Mongolia seems to have a monopoly on all Hungarian exports. For starters, one of Mongolia’s favourite dishes is Goulash which as I understand it comes from Hungary. But then, after exploring a supermarket we found that Hungarian foods can be found all throughout Mongolia, particularly in the confectionary sections as Hungarian chocolate bars were sometimes the only
Asking Directions
In Mongolia you have to use a GPS: Ger Positioning System, whereby you ask for directions at each Ger. choice. Sari and Sanyi, our Hungarian companions, took especial delight in providing us with Hungarian chocolate. They even managed to find one chocolate bar that was covered in Hungarian writing but that they had never seen back home.
Mongolian Food
Before I got to Mongolia I had been warned that the food there was dull and monotonous, a problem that would surely impact upon my usual patterns of gluttony. However, it turns out that Mongolian food is actually incredibly appetising. Another opinion would be that I was glad to have something other than Chinese food after five months, but I choose not to believe that.
Mongolian food is rather simple, with Mutton holding an almost exclusive hold on the meat markets there, but it nevertheless manages to be tasty. Hungarian Goulash, handmade noodles (Tsuivan), rice topped with chilli-tomato sauce, and egg stir fries appear regularly alongside more exotic local delicacies such as boiled sheep’s heads and Buuz (steamed dumplings filled with oily Mutton).
Homemade jams laced homemade breads, small breakfast breads similar to doughnuts were to be found and were also frequently found to disappear into the girl’s stomachs after being liberally covered in chocolate
spreads (Hungarian brands of course), stews were common, and spaghetti even managed to appear one day in the wilderness. To call Mongolia’s cuisine boring would clearly be a lie.
And the above list doesn’t even include any of the “specialties” that we ate, they require headings of their own!
Camel Milk, Mare’s Milk, Goat Milk, Cheese, Airag and Other Dairy Products From Hell
In general, Mongolians are nomadic farmers, and thus they have to live off the products of the land. This could mean two things: they could eat lots of normal animal products just like the rest of us, or they could have invented the world’s most abhorrent collection of dairy products.
The Mongolians chose the latter.
While in Mongolia I managed to try the following foodstuffs:
Camel’s milk, which happens to be so utterly, horribly, overpoweringly sour that only crazy Hungarians can drink a whole cup of the stuff (and then Sanyi suffered stomach cramps for the rest of the day). Verdict: not a good breakfast drink.
Mare’s Milk, which by itself is nothing spectacular, but when it is left out in the sun for a day inside a sack
Rocks and Plains
The rocks near to where we stayed on our first night. We spent a couple of hours climbing around. made from a cow’s hide so that it ferments into the drink known as Airag, it become something truly disgusting. Colloquially known as “Mongol Vodka” it is served either as is, in its warm, sour and milky state, or watered down to a foul tasting kind of water. Either way it tastes very much like a bar of soap wrapped in a hot lemon, and later in the day you start wishing that the toilet wasn’t a hole in the ground fifty meters from your Ger.
Goat’s Milk. Mmmmm, tasty. Just like a chocolate milkshake, only creepy.
Mongolian Cheese, which is, very much like every other dairy product in the country, incredibly sour. Marjie and I had the pleasure of watching the production of various dairy products (cheese, a funny kind of bread, airag) in a family Ger while on a break from a horse trek. Inside the Ger there were two stoves boiling milk, on the side was a large jar of Airag ready for churning, and strings of fly-covered cheese blocks hung from the ceiling. The fresh cheese tasted like sour milk compressed into blocks, the fresh Airag tasted like sour milk fermented into sewage, and
Rocks and Sky
What did I tell you about the Mongolian sky? the family were so insistent that we had to keep on eating and drinking. Needless to say, I was sick that afternoon when my body remembered that it didn’t mix well with lactose, flies and expired milk.
All in all, I would say that Mongolian dairy products are intriguing and worth tasting, but they will never become a popular export. Except maybe to Hungary.
Impromptu Buddhism
On one day during our tour we stopped in a Sum center (a small town) for lunch only to find that it was actually the third day of the seventh lunar month. This probably doesn’t mean much to you, or to ninety percent of the world, but to Mongolian Buddhists (the principal religion is Buddhism, based on the Yellow Hat sect of Tibetan Buddhism) it means that the future Buddha must be welcomed.
Fortunately for us, there was a ceremony underway at the local temple where a cart full of Mantras was going to be paraded around the town in a swath of offerings and prayers. As we watched the local townsfolk vied for prime positions where they could be a part of the ceremony; old men politely challenged
A Tree in the Gobi
Desert? What desert? each other for the right to hold a horn on their shoulder while a monk used it to blow an awfully discordant note (the horns were held together with stickytape). A cacophony of sounds followed the monks as they stood in front of the temple reading scriptures and blessing the future Buddha. Offerings of bread, cheese and Airag were presented to the Buddha as more and more people gathered about.
The locals seemed almost (very, very nearly) oblivious of our presence as we watched the cart circumambulate the temple and then the whole town. A whole day was given over to the ceremony as it clearly held a great importance to the townspeople. The five of us tourists were fortunate indeed to witness it.
The Porno Restaurant
Small restaurants around the world are always decorated in what I call "interesting" ways. It seems to be an unbreakable rule that such restaurants must have something completely out of place on their walls. In China, for example, a lot of restaurants have large posters of food on their walls. You might not think this odd, but when the displayed food is a collection of French breakfast pastries or
More Rocks
The sunset was nice over the rocks. a German sausage platter your thoughts change significantly.
Just imagine my complete lack of surprise when I walked into a Mongolian Guanz (fast food roadstop) which had its walls plastered with Conan the Barbarian styled pornography on all four walls. Furthermore, the interior room, or the so called VIP suite, were adorned with American mid-west themed porn. What a wonderful country, full of such ancient culture and sophistication!
Where’s My Lunch?
Sometimes it is not possible to get food in Mongolia. For example, if you turn up in a small town a little bit too late then there won’t be any food available for lunch. In Tsetserleg, Marjie and I had to search eight or so little restaurants before we found one that would serve us food; they all let us peruse the menu for five minutes before telling us they were closed though.
How to Find a Ger in the Dark
Ger camps can be confusing places. Let’s face it, each round felt tent looks like all the others, it can sometimes be difficult discerning which is yours. Usually this isn’t a problem as Gers are traditionally found only in groups of
two or three, but with the advent of tourists some camps now contain twenty or so. This makes things difficult.
Imagine that you arrive at the Ger camp after dark, which means that you were never quite sure which was your Ger in the first place, and then you quickly rush to the toilets without thinking. Upon leaving the toilets what do you plan to do? I found myself in this situation and was faced with the gnawing problems of discerning which row of tents contained my bed, and which one of the five in that row it was. Thankfully I was able to peek in doorways surreptitiously until I found my place; Hila was not so lucky.
Hila came back into our Ger later on, slightly shaken as it was. She had thought that she knew which tent to go to but had instead walked in on some complete strangers. Twice.
The Gobi “Desert”
The Gobi is a large desert region in China and southern Mongolia
Wikipedia
Given such a description, I was rather shocked when it rained on us while we were there. In fact, I got quite a surprise when I found that most of the Gobi is actually covered in grasslands,
Marjie in Her Element
She's a geologist don't you know. plants and animals, and in general is a beautifully verdant place. The Gobi is not a sandy, barren wasteland as I imagined. Actually, the Gobi doesn’t look like a desert at all (technical definition put aside here of course).
Apparently the word Gobi is actually used by Mongolians to describe a wide variety of landscapes ranging from sandy dunes to rocky plains and grasslands. Travelling through the Gobi was a remarkable experience as the variety of different sights and sceneries was startling.
Lands, Animals and Plants: The Mongolian Countryside in 160 Words or Less
Mongolia is beautiful. I saw grassy plains spreading off in all directions, mountains protruding rockily and precariously, alpine lakes of crystal blue, red sandstone cliffs rising sharply from nothing, high plateaus covered in low shrubs of red and yellow which grasped the sunset light like and put it to perfect use, snowy peaks, forested mountains of autumnal leaves, chilly rivers wending through smooth valleys, immense canyons with icy rivers, rocky riverbeds that were called roads, extinct volcanoes and lava flows, sweeping valleys of verdant green, dusty plains, sandy deserts, dunes higher than mountains, seas of sands, caves, rocky playgrounds, precipitous waterfalls, raging
More Plains
I'm sorry, the plains were beautiful. You're going to have to sit through many more photos of them! rivers, broken bridges, forded streams, small shrubs, knobbly and gnarled trees, marshes, wetlands, birds, cows, sheep, goats, horses, eagles, rodents, marmots, snakes, flies, lizards, fish, yaks, people, and so much more that I can’t name.
And above all, if you forgive the pun, I saw the uplifting and unfathomably beautiful Mongolian sky.
Khongor Ells
While in the Gobi we stopped at the Khongor Ells, or Yellow Sands as the name would translate into English. These sand dunes rise from the grassy plains with inexplicable suddenness to heights well in excess of one hundred meters. From a marshy grasslands at their base it is possible to look up at a sixty degree angle and still not be looking over their peaks! Taking a single step forwards puts you into a completely new world; a sandy wasteland completely opposite to the grassy lushness behind you. Climbing higher and higher up the dunes rewards with distant views out across the plains towards remote mountains.
The five of us climbed slowly, careful of our steps on the steep slopes despite their solidity (the rain on the previous night helped our ascent), until we eventually crested the ridgeline. At that
point I almost fell backward and rolled to their base thanks to the shocking view. On the far side of the first dune their lay a sea of sand dunes stretching off in the distance, each dune rising behind the last in a rolling wave. The yellows contrasted almost too well with the greens of the surrounding countryside and the sands appeared as though a giant dump truck had dropped them their as part of a long forgotten road works.
What made the dunes truly worthwhile however, was the feeling of joy as we ran at full pelt down their sides. The wind in my face as I fell downwards, as opposed to actually running forward with any great speed, did two things: it gave me a rush of adrenaline that had been lacking of late, and it very nearly gave me reason to change my underwear. What crazy idiot convinced me to do that?
We hiked around the dunes towards sunset as well, peppered with further suicidal running where I nearly compacted myself into the middle of a dune, as we watched the lights fade and the colours intensify along the horizon. The dunes were truly a
beautiful place that defies all imagination.
How To Dismount a Camel in Five Easy Steps
While at the Khongor Ells we all went on a Camel ride. Now, at this point you should forget ever Laurence of Arabia fantasies that you have in your mind, they are all factually incorrect. Perhaps this was my mistake as it took me the majority of two hours to figure out the intricacies of Camel riding and after I did that I just wanted to go home.
For starters, Camels are in no way suitable for riding. If anyone thinks that they ever had control over a Camel then they were deceived. A Camel does what a Camel wants to do and that’s all there is to it. My Camel for instance didn’t even want to hold its humps upright. Either it was too stubborn to do so, or it was an old and invalid Camel. All of the other Camels managed this feat, but even with help from me my Camel remained obviously flaccid.
A Camel is “controlled” via a rather cruel looking wooden peg through its nose which you yank either left or right to turn. To
Sari and Sanyi in the Distance
Oh, aren't they lovely together. keep your Camel from eating grass instead of walking you are supposed to pull upwards violently enough to keep the Camel away from the food, but it seemed that I would have to pull my Camel’s nose off to achieve this (he was either hungry or stubborn). As we walked along Camels would routinely wander off in random directions only to randomly turn back to the right direction due to some sort of wild yelling coming from our guide. My Camel was different though, he would only move at all when the guide was pulling him along. This had the benefit that I wasn’t left behind in the marshes on top of a stubborn Camel all by myself, but also had the downside that I looked like a substandard Camel driver.
Eventually I got my reins back and was allowed to drive the Camel solo, this time with slightly more success thanks to the acquired knowledge that yelling “Chu!” would make the Camel snort at me derisively (they said it would make him move faster). Nevertheless, we slowly traced a path along the desert at the foot of the dunes.
The others weren’t having as much trouble as
Sunset on Day One
Things couldn't get much better, could they. . . I was, their Camels weren’t retarded after all, but Sanyi was having a fun time tacking left and right in wide circles which averaged out to a straight line. Going uphill was difficult as the Camels clearly wanted to go downwards at all times.
Going downhill was different as the Camels got excited and actually started listening to our calls, particularly as we turned towards home. Yelling “chu” got some results and the Camels would actually speed up to a slow trot.
Going down one small sand dune very carefully, pulling back on my reins as hard as I dared, I found myself at the very back of our line of Camels again. Hila, riding some ten meters in front of me had just reached the bottom of the hill and yelled at her Camel so that she could speed up and catch up with the others. Unfortunately for me, my Camel responded to her call with alarming intensity (Hila was a cowgirl once so she is good with animals, too good it would seem) and he jumped into a jolting run. This caught me by surprise and a huge elation came to me as we started running
Moghi and Boris
Our indefatiguable driver. quickly down the hill, catching up closer and closer to Hila and the others. Faster and faster he ran, bumping up and down in that jolting way that Camels grace the world. Bouncing up and down I held myself firmly in my saddle as I took in the glorious feeling of the run.
Jolting, bouncing, bouncing and jolting, slipping, sliding, sideways, falling, gliding, flying, hitting, bouncing and finally coming to rest. I found myself on the sand beside my Camel, the saddle somewhere between my legs, my hand still clutching its cloth.
For those of you who want to know, a six foot fall from atop of Camel is nothing fun. I wouldn’t recommend it to my favourite enemy, particularly when you’re carrying expensive camera gear. Thankfully I was alright, the sand wasn’t the hardest surface around, but seriously, why aren’t Camel harnesses strapped around the Camel instead of just being placed on top of them?
I rode out the remainder of the journey is a state of continual fright, fearful of a repeat performance. Twice the Camel slipped in the mud and once he tripped on a rock. Each time my heart jumped a full half-meter,
but eventually we returned home safely.
I have since vowed to never ride a Camel again. Perhaps it was my fault though, I had named my Camel “John Travolta”. I should have known that such a name could only be thought of for an old Camel past his prime.
Rule #1: Don’t Let Hungarians Drive. Rule #2: Definitely Don’t Let Australians Drive
From the very first day of our tour I had been joking with our driver about letting me drive. I never thought he’d actually let me, but then again, it was Mongolia.
While at the Khongor Ells, slightly after our disastrous Camel ride (and therefore at a time when I wasn’t in an entirely rational mood) we all decided to head back to the dunes for a short walk. This also had the advantage that we could drop some beers in the cold river waters en route so that they would be cold for dinner. Moghi, our driver, decided that we could all drive to the dunes, and furthermore, he let Sanyi drive us there!
Sanyi, being Hungarian, had some knowledge of old Russian cars and he seemed to take to Boris
Mongolian Boy
We stopped to ask directions at a Ger, this boy was running around playing with a plastic bag. reasonably easily (only stalled once) but the lack of first gear, the bumpy road, the river we had to ford (he took the brute force approach), and Sanyi’s complete lack of care meant that we charged along the track much faster than was appropriate. The look of calm on Moghi’s face very nearly disappeared for the first time on the trip as yet another bump approached. Luckily though, we made it safely to the dunes.
On the return journey Moghi made a fateful mistake: he let me drive. Now, I’ve driven a lot before, but not in the last eight months so I was a little rusty. Also, the accelerator and brake pedals were separated by almost a foot and a half which made slowing down both difficult and annoying, and therefore unnecessary. While having the time of my life casually shouting out “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before!” at the top of my lungs which charging towards a hillock at 40kph while still in first gear (shifting was difficult so I didn’t bother very often), Moghi was frantically trying to keep himself from grabbing the wheel (for Sanyi he had sat in the back but he had thought
Ruins in the Middle of Nowhere
This used to be a temple which was later built over as a palace. For hundreds of years it has lain ruin. better the second time around).
With some relief on the faces of the others we finally got back to our Gers (the river crossing was so fun that I actually forgot about chilling the beers), with a final screeching halt just for the fun of it. Then, in an effort to confuse everyone I managed a perfect calm, safe and sane reverse park at the appropriate speed. Oh I love driving off-road!
Punishment at Orkhon Waterfall
Something stuck me as odd when I first got into Boris the bus. Something seemed out of place. It wasn’t anything obvious; it was the overly padded ceiling.
For several minutes I pondered the reason behind the padded ceiling. Why would a rough and tumble Russian van have what amounted to a plush divan covering on the inside of its roof?
Dip, bang, float, OUCH! My forehead discovered the reason.
During the following eight days there was a competition between my muscles and gravity as I tried to keep my concussions to a tolerable level. However, despite my best efforts it was an inevitable event each day that I get slammed into the roofing. Marjie and Hila
decided that I deserved punishment if I got to the magical number of ten head-to-roof contacts and they spent many days taunting me with horrible possibilities of what they would make me do.
To cut a long story short I will say that given the choices of getting a Mohawk or singing Bohemian Rhapsody with full emotional actions, I chose instead to go swimming in near freezing water in a small gorge near a beautiful waterfall. The photos will be withheld lest they scare small children.
Moghi’s Mate
Somehow Moghi, our driver, had a friend in a town near to where we stayed one night and, somewhat more surprisingly, this friend was one of Mongolia's top musicians (he had been on some tours to various communist countries around the Soviet bloc prior to the fall of communism in Mongolia in 1990). Considering that he works as a tourist van driver and was born and bred in a remote part of north-western Mongolia, Moghi manages to have a lot of influential and important friends strewn around the countryside, at least from the perspective of a tourist.
On this particular night we returned to our Ger for
dinner after a walk down along the river towards the Orkhon waterfall and its connecting canyon we were surprised to find Moghi's friend carrying several large instruments inside with us. Dressed in a blue Del (traditional Mongolian coat), which shimmered alarmingly brightly compared to the usual dirty and work-worn clothes of the local people that we had met, he sat down across from all of us and introduced himself via Enke. We learned that he was a music teacher at a nearby school and that his band only played together during the summer months when they could all collect together in Ulaan Baatar. Then he began to play for us.
Sitting there, eating my noodly dinner and sipping on my tea which was eventually replaced with low quality Russian vodka, I listed to the traditional music as it flew from his fingers and mouth. He was playing a harp-like instrument made of many parallel strings, each of which was tuned by a separate and movable bridge. He deftly tuned the instrument before each song, thus creating a unique sound and key for each piece. Plucking the strings quickly so as to make a fast-paced beat, the melody clearly audible
above the multitude of bass lines and chords, he managed to make such a complicated song that one could easily imagine it to be played by a quartet. His voice added even more to the song as he began the almost guttural sounds of Mongolian throat singing whereby he was singing two different tunes at once. Somehow the sounds mixed together and soothed each other so that the overall result was an earthy and mystical chorus which seemed to fit perfectly into the Mongolian countryside.
He sang us songs of battles and kings, of ancient Mongolian generals, of Chinghis Khaan himself, and above all he sang about the lands of Mongolia. Each song was amazing by itself, but something was adding to the mixture. There in the Ger, surrounded by all things Mongolian, sitting close to friends so as to keep out the cold, as the fire gurgled and spat in between us, while a Yak groaned outside the door, everything fitted together. The whole of Mongolia seemed to be a part of the song, or perhaps the song was part of Mongolia.
Later, he switched to a Mongolian flute upon which he played us a Beethoven, catching
An Old Buddhist Carving
This carving was lying in the ground next to the the ruins. us by surprise as he did, and then onto a horse-head fiddle: the traditional Mongolia violin-esque instrument. On these instruments he played well, but the magic was lacking so we begged him to play us more on the harp. Gladly he picked it up in his arms (the vodka we gave to him may have helped) and played once more, again bringing us the amazing feeling of a true Mongolian evening, and immersing us with a feeling of Mongolia itself.
Another Failed Attempt at Animal Husbandry
While at Orkhon Waterfall we all went on a six hour long horse trek along a beautiful valley. This was to be a highlight of the trip and we were all very excited about its prospects. After my Camel riding incident I was keen to prove myself capable of coexisting with animals and I was anxious to learn how to control a horse properly. To that end I had enlisted Hila and the knowledge she had gained from six years work as a cowgirl on a cattle farm. She gave me every lesson that she had been given when she started working with horses: “pull left to go left, pull right
Crescent Moon Ceremony
Participants at the ceremony we chanced upon during one of our lunch stops. to go right”. I was ready to go!
As we set off things started badly. My horse (Kharmud) decided that left didn’t exist and he started walking sideways to the right. No matter what I tried he kept walking in the wrong direction until the guide came and pulled him into line. After that he behaved a little better and I slowly got the hang of things.
After a few hours of this learning process I was really getting into the swing of things. My horse turned when I asked him to, he sped up a little when I told him to, and he didn’t eat grass unless I let him. Things seemed to be going well. Then he sat down.
Now I’m no expert, but apparently horses aren’t supposed to sit down to eat, but that’s what mine did. He gave up on trying to pull his head down to the grass every two steps and just sat down on the ground and rolled around a bit. I dejectedly got off his back and the guide came over and told him off. The horse stood up and I got back on, everything was back to normal.
Monk Musician
They should have stuck to their day jobs. Just kidding, the ceremony was marvelous to watch. . . for a while.
Half and hour later he sat down again, this time though I got him to stand up by myself with only slight discomfort when he stood on my foot. We continued riding again as if nothing had happened but then he sat down again! Over the course of six hours he sat down a total of six times for no explicable reasons. I guess I’m just no good with animals.
Temples, Karma and Wheels
Tibetan Buddhist temples, and thus Mongolian temples as well, have prayer wheels strewn across there grounds. These wheels are filled with Mantras, essentially prayers, that you can send off to heaven by spinning the wheels. Some wheels are small, some are big, some are in groups of a hundred or more spread around the temple in a kora.
One such wheel, a particularly big one was sitting outside of a temple which we visited near the old Mongolian capital of Kharkhorim. It was housed within a small building and was perhaps two meters in diameter. It was exquisitively crafted and covered with beautiful script so I thought it would be a good idea to increase my
Trying to Blow His Horn
A monk at the ceremony. Karma by spinning it around a few times. Three times I span it as I walked around it in the traditional clockwise circle, thousands of prayers floating off to the Buddhist deities in an effort to improve my Karma, my fortunes, my luck, my success and all those other wonderful things.
As I left the building, feeling uplifted from my spiritual encounter, I bashed my head dramatically into the doorframe. So much for Karma.
Our Family at White Lake
After a long and incredibly fun eight days with Hila, Sanyi, Sari, Enke and Moghi, Marjie and I headed out on our own for a short trip to Tseten Tsaagan Nuur. Also known as White Lake, this alpine wonder lies in the mid-west of Mongolia, up on the Mongolian plateau, in an area ringed by snow-capped mountains. Our aim was to spend some time trekking and exploring the surrounding mountains and countryside, camping in the wilderness, meeting nomadic locals, and so on.
After hitching a ride with another tour group heading to the lake we found ourselves sleeping in a family run "Ger hotel"; essentially just a small collection of Gers owned by a local family.
Boy Celebrant
Young boys were conscripted into the ceremony, seemingly at random. The family themselves lived in a small wooden shack beside the Gers.
We arrived very late in the evening, around 10pm or so, and we were very quickly ushered out of the cold night air and into the family's house for a warm dinner before we retired to bed. Just before hitting my cot though, I headed up the hill towards the toilet, facing the hillside as I did so. But then, just for the hell of it, I turned around and actually looked at the lake behind me. In the darkness it was hard to pick out details of my surroundings, but there in front of me, clearly shimmering in the moonlight, lay the most beautiful lake in the world. The grassy hill upon which our Ger sat faced out across the calm waters which stretched into the distance only to be stopped by smoothly sloped mountains. The mountains were covered in yellow and green trees, autumn leaves and all, cascading down towards the water's edge. On my sides reared tall mountains with rocky peaks and exposed sides. Talk about a toilet with a view!
For some reason we stayed at the lake a lot longer than
Colours of Mongolia
The Mongolian Buddhists have five colours that they use to symbolise things: red, blue, green, yellow and white. we had first anticipated. Perhaps it was because of the view, or perhaps it was because of the little luxuries that we were provided with. Every night we would be given a warm dinner, as well as breads and jams at breakfast time. Our fireplace would be lit for us in the early morning hours while we huddled under our covers, the family's daughter, a cute-as-anything little girl would bring us hot water for our tea with a well rehearsed "thank-you very much", and virtually every whim of ours was satisfied. With such a wonderful setting and with the family looking after us so well it was simply impossible for Marjie and I to leave.
We spent our days exploring the countryside around the lake; taking walks along its shore, climbing rocky outcrops, hiking to the nearby volcano, running down the near-vertical face of said volcano, climbing the snowy hills behind our Ger (it actually snowed on us during one night), drinking wine in obscenely beautiful places (Dad, thanks for the Penfolds, it made me look like a real romantic), riding horses, and some days were spent simply lazing around enjoying the view. To say that we had a
good time would be a significant understatement; White Lake was heaven.
Horsing Around, Again. This Time in Style
Ok, I'm bad with animals. I admit it. I've never gotten much past the "petting a dog without it biting you" stage, as evidenced by my encounters with camels and horses in Mongolia. I do however think of myself as persistent, if not masochistic, so I took it upon myself to try riding a horse a third time. Also, Marjie really wanted to go on another long ride and I simply couldn't say no to those puppy-dog eyes.
So there we were, ready to ride horses around White Lake. Unfortunately it had snowed the previous night so it was too cold to go riding (nobody wanted to guide us) and we had to put our ride off by a day, but eventually the weather was on our side, sort of. In freezing cold weather with an arctic wind blowing across the lake we prepared ourselves for the ride. The family at our Ger lent us riding boots (Marjie managed to fit in hers, mine only made it half-way along my foot) and Dels. The Del is the traditional
Mongolian dress used by nomadic herders. It is essentially a thick cloth cloak which wraps completely around you and is held in place by five clasps and a sash. To say that we were dashing in our Dels would be an act of blatant self absorption, so I choose to only say it once.
The Dels kept us warm enough as we set out, but my face was soon raw and cold, as were my ankles and feet. Nevertheless we rode onwards, this time at a considerably faster pace than usual (to keep warm you understand), and we covered a significant amount of ground within two and a half hours before we stopped at our guide's Ger for lunch.
What was most remarkable about the ride was not the scenery, which is saying quite a lot given our location, but was instead the fact that my horse actually did exactly what I said. When I called "Chu" he sped up, when I pulled on the reins he turned or slowed as desired. Essentially, I was in control of a horse for the first time ever. Take that world! I am capable of riding!
To top the whole
day off perfectly we finished our ride with a long gallop, my first as it was, where I finally managed to truly appreciate the joys of riding a horse. I would definitely do it again, but maybe not in such cold weather, and to that end I bought myself a Del as soon as I got back to UB.
The Army of Sheep
We woke up late and opened the door of our Ger, letting in the view across a hillock towards the eastern extremity of White Lake. Lying there taking in the morning air, our breakfast and the view outside our warm tent, the last thing we expected was to be attacked.
Suddenly, as if in a planned attack, a row of sheep crested the hill. Lined up perfectly so as to crest the hill all at the same time, the sheep rose over the hill with faces of evil and hate as they charged towards us. Huddled in our Ger we wondered why on Earth the sheep would attack us, but there they were, charging towards us in a wide battle-array.
In the end they walked around the Ger, but the sight of
them cresting the hill gave Marjie quite a fright.
A Pile of Rocks to You or I
All around Mongolia you run into piles of rocks. They sit in all manner of places: on top of hills, in the middle of roads (this is the most common), on promontories that push into lakes, in the middle of an empty plain, and pretty much any other random place you can think of. The rocks are arranged into a rough pile and are covered in blue sashes which symbolise the sky. They are places where Mongolians pay their respects to heaven and the sky, and they have existed since a time well before Buddhism reached the Mongol plains.
When you reach one of these holy sites you must pass it on the left side, according to the Tibetan Buddhist traditions. Now, none of this is new or truly remarkable, but something did rouse my particular interest here. It was the way in which every Mongolian respects and maintains the relics that struck me most. Whenever our drivers or guides past such a pile they would add a rock, or perhaps they would put a rock that had fallen
back on top. Furthermore, all sorts of bits and pieces were added to the piles such as crutches (the kind used for broken legs) and steering-wheel covers (Moghi had added one to a pile where he once got stuck in a broken down van with a tour group). In this way, every Mongolian that passes the stones manages to pay their respects as well as maintaining them for future generations. It is a very simple tradition, and could go unnoticed (a simple act of throwing a pebble onto the pile was sometimes all that they did), but it stuck me as something worthwhile.
Getting Back to UB in The Way Least Likely
When we finally got around to leaving White Lake, we decided to hitch back towards Ulaan Baatar as opposed to paying a ludicrous sum for a private Jeep. The family that ran our Gers gave us a lift into town (they wouldn't tell us how much it cost, they wanted us to tell them how much we would pay for it) and we were to be found beside the "highway" in the chilly afternoon air with our thumbs out, so to speak.
We were
hoping to get a quick ride to the town of Tsetserleg that afternoon, but cars were few and far between. Everyone that we talked to seemed to be going in different directions or were unwilling to take us. Eventually though, as is always the case, a ride came along.
Our ride was somewhat unorthodox. It was a semi-trailer, a big Russian one, which was carrying a second semi on its tray. The trailer of the second semi was attached behind the first's, thus making a road train. On top of the second trailer was a small truck, a mini-van styled one. The whole set-up looked awfully ramshackle, but it seemed to be moving properly so we weren't worried about anything. Our companions seemed interesting and friendly: the driver and his best friend (the owner of the second semi), the driver's brother, an older man of unknown origin and his equally unknown son.
We found out later on that the truck was not held together as well as it could have been. This was evidenced by the way that we were only moving at 20kph across the Mongolian countryside and the way that we had to turn corners with
Moghi at Night
When he's not driving, he's still smiling. utmost care. You see, the trailers weren't actually connected to each other: the second was resting on top of a tyre which was lying on the first. A collection of steel wires were holding things in place as we drove, and the trailers were slowly bouncing apart.
To fit two westerners into the truck took some effort and the unknown man was actually forced to sit in the cab of the second semi with our bags while we squeezed into the front with the other four guys. Conversation was slow to begin with, as the only the driver spoke a little English (and Russian it turned out). As an indication of our circumstances, here is a collection of most of the English words that we heard that day:
Baby yak - referring to a group of cows.
Volcano, Lava, Hot - referring to the volacnic rocks around the lake.
Supermarket - referring to kids selling Airag beside the road.
Today not go - referring to the fact that the truck was moving so slowly that we would have to overnight in the middle of nowhere with them and then travel onwards to Tsetserleg the next day.
While
Night-Time
The Mongolian sky is so clear that every star imagined is visible. We often sat out for a while looking up, remembering what stars actually look like. we talked and played cards that night, and while we ate our dinner (see next section for details), we befriended the guys in our truck. They were driving back to Ulaan Baatar after having spent many weeks shipping freight to Western Mongolia. We made jokes, taught them to play our card games, drank as little vodka as we could politely get away with, and generally had a good time. But then, much to my surprise, we found out that the driver, Menghul, could actually speak Chinese! This made things a lot easier, as we were then able to talk with a lot more details.
On the following day the journey continued at its slow and steady pace. We traversed more and more ground, we only had to stop once (to readjust the trailers using a very primitive but effective method of jacks and metal bars), and finally we reached our destination. As far as hitching goes, that will probably be the most interesting vehicle that I will ever ride on, and it was filled with some amazing friends as well.
To make things even more perfect, the truck had a sound system; a very old tape player and
The Flaming Cliffs
The name says it all. Except for the part about how difficult it was to scramble up the sides of the hill. a collection of very old tapes. For some reason, Menghul had a fascination with western music, perhaps the pop music that was imported to Mongolia from the west during the nineties. We sat and listened in awe and amazement to collections such as "Top Twenty One Hit Wonders of the 1990's that were only hits in Mongolia", "1998 Bad Taste Pop Mix", and my favourite "Final Countdown, and Other Forgotten Songs of Your Tormented Youth".
I Can Take the Plague
The bubonic plague came from Mongolia. Did you know that? I didn't before I went there, but I soon read about it in my guidebook. The disease was carried by small rodents living in the country which then spread to Europe along the silk road, thus bringing horrible consequences to the west during the Middle Ages. How is this important you ask? Well, the rodents in Mongolia still carry the plague, and there are regular outbreaks.
The plague is most often carried by Marmots which are slightly chubby, yellow, furry things which you see all across the Mongolian steppes, and as it happens to pass, Marmots are considered good eating. To cook a Marmot, Mongolians stuff
hot stones inside the dead animal and leave it to slowly cook from the inside out. Then, in order to remove the fur and skin, a blowtorch is liberally applied to the exterior. Does this sound tasty?
Marjie and I are happy to report that Marmot is in fact incredibly tasty. Thanks to our trucking friends that we hitched with we were given a big Marmot meal: huge chunks of plaguey meat on the bone, cooked early that day but served cold to us. It tasted a little like mutton, only significantly different. Mixed with raw onions, the Marmot dish was quite an experience and we gladly ate it down. It did of course take us a while to determine what it was that we were eating, and we didn't know that it was Marmot until afterwards, but we had been looking for the meat during our whole trip so it was a pleasant surprise.
When we got back to Ulaan Baatar though, we found an unpleasant surprise: an outbreak of the plague had occurred near Khovsgol Lake. . .
Don't worry, we didn't catch it.
A Friend Indeed
To anyone who is planning
a trip to Mongolia, I have to recommend you to a certain driver friend of ours. Moghi was amazing, he made our trip the unbelievable adventure that it was. Besides being a fantastic driver capable of getting substandard cars up ludicrous mountains, he also knows a lot of interesting places and details of the Mongolian lands. His English was great, he introduced us to his friends, and he was a fun and friendly mate to hang around with. Also, when we came back to UB he took us to the black market to do some shopping during his free time so that we wouldn't get ripped off! I haven't met a friendlier person.
If you want to do a budget tour of Mongolia that is still awesome, try and get Moghi as your driver. He would also be perfectly adequate as a guide and translator given a little patience and a phrasebook (we gave him ours so he'll be even better next season). To get in touch with him just ask for Moghi (his full name is Menghul) at the Khongor Guesthouse in Ulaan Baatar.
Goodbye Mongolia, Hello China
All good things must come to an
Entrance to Yolyn Am
Yolyn Am is a canyon in the Gobi which has a frozen river "running" through it most of the year. The ice had melted before we arrived, but the scenery was still amazing. end, and eventually we had to leave for China. Marjie and I took an overnight train to the border complete with fistfights, loud Mongolians, rude Mongolians, polite Mongolians, and very little sleep, before we took a jeep across the border. Thanks to the rush of immigration after the Chinese "Golden Week" holiday we found ourselves stuck in a queue of jeeps at the border which lasted eight whole hours. Finally though, we left Mongolia.
I wish I could sum up Mongolia here for you, clearly my above efforts are less than succinct. To be blunt, I had the best month of my life in Mongolia. The people are friendly, more friendly even than the cute puppy dog at the pet store, the landscapes are like no others (the photos are evidence there), the experience of bouncing around in a Russian van across untamed countryside for days on end feels like true freedom, the tourist attractions are unparalleled in beauty and uncluttered by tourists, and the country remains un-touched and real.
Mongolia is wonderful, I loved it.
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Joel
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Wall of text
TLDR!!1 Ps Are you emo now?